


She

by zanymalik



Category: American Idiot - Green Day/Armstrong
Genre: Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/F, Genderswap, Multi, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanymalik/pseuds/zanymalik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She remembers feeling like a completely new person for a while. This was what being in the city was supposed to be like. Fun. Exciting. Exhilarating. The city would beat the shit out of you but you didn't care because that was what everyone wanted. She certainly didn’t need any pot-smoking soon-to-be fathers or Uncle Sam wannabes. She had her girl, she had her boy, and she had her city. She was finally a part of it all.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	She

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Small Parts Fest over at LJ and Tumblr! I think about what a genderswapped Johnny would be like (especially if the rest of the characters remained the same) a lot _a lot_ and this is basically the product of that.

She hates the way she remembers things sometimes. It’s like her brain wants to glamorize the whole … ordeal, make it into something it wasn’t. She knows how she looks to everyone when she passes by the old 7-Eleven every now and again; she tried to get out, finally ran away from home, then returned worse for the wear with her tail between her legs.  
  
It really fucking sucks.  
  
Even though she’s back living in her cave of a room in the basement of her parents’ house, even though she’s still slogging through suburbia day in and day out, just  _trying_  to break out of this hell known as  _unemployment_ , even though she’s probably better off now than she  _was_ , she’s still got her memories.

\---

  
"Shut the fuck up, J."  
  
She  _certainly_  remembers how Will laughed his ass off, how Tunny brushed her off with his usual frank manner, when she told them that they were going to get out of there. To be fair, it’d probably been the tenth time in the span of a year that she’d said it, but she  _really meant it_  that time.  
  
She remembers Will hopping up and down like a fucking maniac when she handed him the bus ticket, a big blur of black and blue, howling and yelling ("Thank you,  _Jesus!_ "), because  _holy shit, they’re finally getting out of Jingletown_. And then there was Tunny, grabbing her face with both of his hands, baby blues wide and shining with a joy she’d never thought he was capable of.  
  
"You saved my fucking life."  
  
She remembers the instantaneous anger that seared through her as Will told her that they couldn’t go – Heather was  _pregnant_ , for fuck’s sake – that they could just wait a while and then the four of them could figure it all out. Even now, there’s a flash of – what, embarrassment? – as she recalls tugging a conflicted Tunny away and telling him that  _they’re fucking going_. Leaving Will behind. He’d get over it – he’d come to understand why they left with time, right?  
  
She also can’t help but remember that flash of fear when she found out Heather was pregnant. Shit could’ve happened to  _her_ , total lack of a sex life be damned. She knows she wouldn’t have wanted the father of her kid to ditch her for the big city, even if she didn’t even know what to do about the damn thing. It’s an absolutely terrifying thought that shakes her to her core, but she’s sure as hell not going to show that. Just --  _fuck_ Will for screwing this up.  
  
They had to leave him there.

\---

  
Stepping off that Greyhound bus and onto city sidewalk for the first time. She and Tunny, side by side, looking out at those skyscrapers like their eyes were open for the first time ever. Even trekking the flights and flights of stairs up to the crappy sublet she’d found online was like experiencing a whole new world. And it was.  
  
It was good for a while. She remembers that much.  
  
She’s always be ready to go, go, go, explore new places, try new foods, see new things, meet new people; she couldn’t get enough of it all, felt like there weren’t enough hours in the day. The promise that this city offered – a new beginning,  _truly_  - was too strong to ignore. He’d willingly complied at first, followed her around this way and that, though his enthusiasm began to wane as the days went on.  
  
"Don’t you ever get fucking  _tired?_ "  
  
So she’d given up on Tunny. Let him do his thing. It seemed like he was always asleep when she’d come home and crawl into bed, be it at nine at night or four thirty in the morning, worn out after a long night of bar-hopping. Did he even _do_  anything during the day? Hell if she knew. It sure didn’t look like it, but it didn’t matter to her because this was her new, exciting life and there was  _no fucking way_  she was letting him drag her down like a deadweight.

\---

  
She remembers the first time that she saw  _her_.  
  
The loneliness was starting to wear her down, make her feel a bit of disdain towards this city of dreams of hers. She’d encounter thousands every day, yet not one of them knew her name. She felt empty. So she’d walk, thoughts consuming her, which she bitterly tried to ward off.  
  
But then there she was.  _Her_. A punk rock angel staring wistfully out her window without a single care in the world, head crowned with a halo of dark curls with an explosion of pink, the glow from within giving her this freaking _heavenly light_ , she swears.  
  
She knows that she didn’t know how to feel towards the other girl in that moment. Curiosity. Admiration.  _Jealousy_. This city girl looked like every thing that  _she_  wanted to be: at ease with herself, with the skyscrapers, with the sidewalks down below.  
  
She still doesn’t know why, but she waved up at her, hardly conscious of her actions.  
  
The other girl looked down at J, brows furrowed momentarily in confusion as she tried to place the mystified-looking female below, then simply laughed it off – a throaty, beautiful laugh, giving a short wave in return and disappearing to who knows where.  
  
But their eyes locked, if only for a brief moment.  
  
She remembers feeling a connection to someone for the first time in this stupid, empty city.

\---

  
Nothing could've prepared her for Tunny being gone when she got back. She never could’ve … fathomed it, the idea of him leaving her -  _alone_. There was a note, scrawled in his messy handwriting:  


_J –_

Had to do something.  
Won’t be back.  
Don’t wait up.

  
Fuck  _that_. Fuck Tunny. Fuck this city.

\---

  
She remembers stomping away from their building – running away again,  _so typical_ , but she didn’t give a shit. She didn’t need Tunny. This city was  _hers_  for the taking.  
  
Shit gets fuzzy for her from here on out.  
  
It started with a cigarette.  
  
"Need a light?"  
  
A nod. With a flick of his lighter, the dude lit the tip of her cigarette, by which she took a much-needed drag.  _Christ_ , her nerves were shot; her hands were practically shaking.  
  
"You look fucked up. Are you fucked up?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Maybe you should  _get_  fucked up."  
  
She had no idea who the hell this guy was. Dark – not literally dark, more metaphorically dark, whatever that means – and tall – maybe not literally tall, more …  _looming_  - with mischievous eyes ringed with black. Maybe attractive, if someone’s into that sort of thing. And, well, maybe she  _was_  into that sort of thing. Who fucking knows. Not her, still, to this day.  
  
She remembers throwing her reservations to the wind and taking a tab of E with this guy she hardly knew -  _St. J_ , he’d said (hah, _sure_ ) – and running off to some dive bar with him and moshing uncontrollably with him, with  _everyone_ , really. Everyone on the whole planet.  _Together_. That’s what it felt like. But she didn’t give a shit, because she was flying high and it was magical and wonderful and it  _felt so fucking good_.  
  
She figures that’s the night her life officially started going to shit.

\---

  
She remembers doing those few lines of coke beforehand with J.  
  
"Go find that chick. Go fucking find her. I know you think about her all the time and it absolutely drives you  _wild_."  
  
His pupils were as big as fucking saucers, his face nearly pressed up against hers, hands clawlike as he grabbed onto her shoulders, topped off with one of his typical shit-eating grins. Okay, okay, she’d fucking go. Jesus.  
  
She remembers standing underneath that girl’s window again, yelling up to her like the moron that she is. The girl just smiled sagely, wagging a finger for her to come on up. The sound of the building’s buzzer when the door unlocked makes her shiver.  
  
The rest is practically a blur – granted, it’s a hot blur, but still. Pulse racing. The door opens. This chick apparently likes hanging out in her underwear – cute underwear, pink  _just like her goddamn hair,_  holy shit. Heart’s going six hundred miles an hour. Maybe it’s the drugs, or maybe it’s the girl tugging her into her apartment by the front of her shirt, or maybe it’s the feel of her pretty little pout against her mouth all of a sudden. The curves of her body. Fuck clothes. Clothes are overrated. It’s a flash of limbs and pink hair and soft skin and  _holy shit is this really happening?_  She vaguely recalls trying to tell her what her name is at some point during the night.  
  
"J. That’s cute."  
  
She remembers -  _somehow_  - waking up the next morning, not knowing where the hell she was with nobody in sight.  
  
She remembers, scrawled daintily on her stomach in pink lipstick:

_"♥W  
212-XXX-XXXX"_

  
There’s no way in hell she still remembers  _that_  phone number.

\---

  
She remembers feeling like a completely new person for a while.  _This_  was what being in the city was supposed to be like. Fun. Exciting. Exhilarating. The city would beat the shit out of you but you didn't care because that was what everyone  _wanted_. She certainly didn’t need any pot-smoking soon-to-be fathers or Uncle Sam wannabes. She had her girl, she had her boy, and she had her city. She was finally a part of it all.  
  
If she thought that the Ecstasy and the coke were good, just wait until she started running with the big boys, he'd say to her. There was no way in  _hell_  she was backing away from something like that; she'd show those big boys who was boss.  
  
She remembers feeling like she was set ablaze the first time she shot up, fire coursing through her veins at the speed of light. This was  _good_. There were a thousand thoughts in her head and she had no idea if words were even coming out. She laughed and laughed, because the thought of other people going through life and not experiencing  _this_ , this glorious, beautiful  _this_ , absolutely blew her mind.  
  
And, while that was good, it was  _nothing_  compared to the first time she convinced  _her_  to shoot up, too, lips to the soft skin at the crook of her elbow before letting the drugs do the talking for her. Limbs all tangled, clothing quickly shed because it was just too fucking  _hot_ , fingertips wandering lazily across smooth skin. Haziness. Clarity. Not knowing which way was down and which way was up and not caring. Being together. Feeling  _alive_.  
  
She thinks she fell in love that night.

\---

  
Coming down sucks, even when it’s gradual. It’s another thing when the crash happens at the blink of an eye.  
  
That’s what happened, eventually.  
  
She remembers that night, abruptly awoken from nightmares of demons and shadows by a painful, biting hunger that only a little bit of that white powder could get rid of. Tourniquet nipping at her skin, trying  _desperately_  to ignore the tiny scars that began to mar her skin, needle carefully clenched between her teeth as she looked for a good spot --  _Jesus_ , if she didn’t do it soon, she was going to lose her shit.  
  
It sucks that in her desperate frenzy, she woke up the sleeping girl next to her. It sucks that she tried to stop her, tried to calm her down, tried to  _slow_  her down.  _No._  
  
She remembers elbowing her away, and -- there it was,  _that_  was better … except it wasn’t, because  _she_  wouldn’t get the fuck off of her. Head spinning, vision blurry, she rose, stumbling like a baby deer learning how to walk, pushing her  _away_. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t handle this. Her hands felt heavy, like she couldn’t even hold them up, but somehow there was that knife in her hand, pointed at the wide-eyed girl before her. Cool, hard metal felt like fire pressed against her neck...  
  
She doesn’t remember what happened after that.

\---

  
Was it weeks? Days? Months?  _Years?_  Fuck. She still doesn’t know how long she was passed out.  
  
"Hey, hey, it’ll be okay."  
  
Her voice despite everything was soft and sweet and tender and it just pissed her the fuck off. So she turned away. Blocked her out, despite all of her begging and pleading.  
  
She remembers something (someone?) - that she desperately resisted confronting - inside her freaking the fuck out when her tin of drugs was angrily picked up off the dirty floor, and the tell-tale sound of the toilet flushing.  
  
Fuck it, then.  
  
Fuck her.

\---

  
She remembers vowing to never so much as  _look_  at her again.  
  
She also remembers, from that day forth, seeing her  _everywhere_. At the club. On the street. In her fucking  _dreams_. It drove her crazy - crazier than she already was.  
  
She and her saintly friend upped the ante, going harder than ever before, higher than the goddamn  _moon_ , lower than she could ever think possible. Anything to get  _her_  out of her head.  _Anything_.  
  
It’s laughable, really, when she really  _does_  see her in the basement of a dive bar one night, waiting for some shitty band to play, mind fucked up beyond belief. Before she knows it, her hand’s waving in that direction and the pink-haired angel rapidly loses her cool, letting out the most ferocious, agitated sound she’s ever heard in her entire life.  
  
She remembers turning to J to laugh only to find him gone without a trace.  _Shit_. There was no avoiding her now, no quick getaway, and her heart pounded so hard she thought it might explode. The other girl got so close she thought she might fucking  _kiss_  her -- but no, that once-pretty snarl of hers delivered words so harsh that she refuses to even think about the shit she said to her that night.

\---

She remembers realizing that  _she_  was right. Her life was a fucking joke.  
  
 _Shit_.  
  
The first thing to go was the drugs, dumped into the toilet as she cringed, wanting so desperately to change her fucking mind and save the remains while she still could. The desperate nagging in her brain, the pains that would shoot through her body - almost made her break down day in and day out, eyes welled up with tears, wanting to give up.  
  
But she didn’t need that shit. She didn’t need this so-called St. Jimmy, either. She could take control of her  _own_  life. Figure her shit out.  
  
And since she’d fucked up so unbelievably bad in the city, what other choice did she have?  
  
She went home.

\---

  
She still swears that she sees that flash of pink every now again, thinks she’ll see her cigarette stomped out by those neon Doc Martens. Just thinking about  _her_  sends a chill up her spine, a nagging, longing feeling nestled deep within her. It’s buried right where her fear is - fear that she’ll fuck up again, relapse, see that dark-haired devil rounding the corner. But she won’t.  
  
She just can’t forget them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the loves of my life [ohyoudork](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ohyoudork) and [msmoocow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoocow/pseuds/msmoocow) for encouraging me to write the thing. I WROTE THE THING.


End file.
